Discordant Melody: A Kurda Smahlt Story
by The Freaky Butt Mate
Summary: [mm] He was beautiful. He was mine. I loved him and - well, okay, I don't know if he loved me back - but the fact still remains that I loved him. But they took him away. They took him away from me. And for that they will pay. {Finis}
1. Goddamn Right

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**Disclaimer:** I do no own Kurda Smahlt or any other vampire you may recognise. They all belong to the wonderful Darren Shan (who's real name is too long for me to remember!)

I do, however, own Marcus van Kütriht and the main character. They are mine, mine, all _mine._

Also, this story will contain sexual and adult references. And an m/m relationship. I mean, this is me we're talking about. I love yaoi. XD

In other words, this is not for the type who hate to read about men liking men. So :P. Flame me for the way I portray these characters and I shall not be pleased.

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**Discordant Melody**

** A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**First**

**Sforzando**

**Goddamn Right, It's A Beautiful Day**

**----**

The life before my vampire years is somewhat hazy to me, a blurred mirage on the horizon of the barren world that is my consciousness. It fades in an out of my memory, never clear, never focused, as if I were viewing it through a camera with a bad lens. But it was there. It _is_ there. I remember that much.

I vaguely remember something about a father who left us, a single, sickly mother, and a hungry baby sister who was forever crying. I think I left home when I was young – fifteen, sixteen – to pursue a career. A career in something… something musical. I wasn't good enough to hit the big time. Actually, I was never really good at anything, except for playing the piano, the guitar, the flute – but, like I said, I wasn't great at it. I was forced to work odd jobs to support myself while I searched for that elusive, non-existent Big Break.

Dock worker by day, piano man by night, playing in a tired old jazz club simply called 'The Sax'.

I remember that because I was working there the day he came. It's the only day I remember vividly in my years before vampirism. Because it was a beautiful day. A damned beautiful day.

Most people would consider a beautiful day to be one of those sunny, warm days with a gentle sea breeze rustling through the trees as they rested at home, enjoying the company of loved ones.

Well, there _was_ a sea breeze on this day, a random day in the year 1976. It wasn't exactly a gentle breeze, though. It was cold and biting, ripping leaves from their branches and whipping at clothes and hair, while heavy black clouds combined with the usual city smog to filter out the afternoon sun. Beyond the docks, lightning flickered out on the open sea.

Rain was coming.

But it wasn't the weather that made me believe it was beautiful. Oh, no, no, no. It was another reason. A very different reason.

I remember my mind being tired from playing piano all the night before. My body was aching from shifting cargo boxes around all day. My ears were ringing from the cutting taunts of my co-workers.

Oh yes. My co-workers. Bruiser, Deadeye Duncan, Joe, Two-Fingers, Fidget and Louis the Squealer. In some ways, I'm grateful for them and their discriminative ways. If it weren't for them, I would have never have met _him._

I had signed out for the day, picking up my pay cheque for the past week at the same time. I think I was turning down a dingy alley, pulling up the collar of my coat to block out the cold, when I heard them.

"Hey, fag."

I had nearly forgotten that word. How I hated it.

I turned around slowly to find the mouth of the alley blocked by five or six large men, all muscles, potbellies, hair and testosterone, and about half a brain shared between them. Standing in the middle was the largest one of all, a giant pig of a man imaginatively named 'Bruiser'. He came up with the name himself, obviously. Because he liked to give his victims bruises. Intimidating, wasn't it? I mean, who else in the world wants to have a dog's name?

"What do you want, Bruiser?" I asked tiredly. I wasn't in the mood to put up with them. An ugly sneer spread over his even uglier face as he and his mates stepped toward me menacingly.

"I want you to get your faggy little ass outta here," he growled. "You don't belong."

I took an unsure step back as they advanced. Well, who wouldn't? I was a gangly guy, full of awkward angles and, compared to them, no muscles at all.

"Aren't you going a little over the top here, Bruiser?" I asked, raising my hands defensively. The huge man leaned forward and grabbed me by the front of my jacket. With a simple flex of his biceps, he lifted me up, making my legs dangle loosely in the air. He brought his face close to mine. I even remember the stench of stale alcohol on his breath.

"I don't like fags, McCarthy," he growled, his breath threatening to knock me out. "And you're the faggiest of them all."

"Is that really the only world in your otherwise vast vocabulary?" I asked before I could stop myself. "And how can I be the 'faggiest' if I'm the only one you know – unless you're trying to tell us all something, Bruiser."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I would regret them. It was like signing my proverbial death certificate. Being a hopeless wise ass had always had its repercussions.

Confusion flashed in Bruiser's eyes and he dropped me slightly. In that split second, I thought I was going to live.

That hope was soon shattered.

One man, smaller than the rest, leaned forward a little. He was the smartest of the lot, making up about three quarters of the half a brain they all shared, a fidgety man nicknamed – well, Fidget.

"He just insulted ya, Bruiser."

"I know that!" Bruiser spat. He dropped me, and before I had a chance to get my balance – before I even knew what was happening – his fist slammed into my jaw, making me spiral off onto the grimy, stinking ground.

Spluttering, I pulled myself up off of the ground, dripping of things I didn't want to identify. I could taste blood, which I promptly spat out to the side. I quickly checked my teeth by running my tongue over them, just to make sure they were all there. By some stroke of luck, they were.

Vaguely, I was aware of a small group of people passing the alley. They looked towards us, sensed what was happening, and scurried off. They didn't want to get involved. I didn't blame them. I hadn't wanted to get involved either.

Then something happened, something powerful gripped me. Something reckless. It must have been the adrenaline rush of being smashed in the face. Maybe it was my own testosterone kicking in. It could have even been the taste of blood in my mouth. Either way, I couldn't believe what I said next. Even to this day, I can't believe it.

"What?" I asked, grinning. My teeth were stained crimson with blood. Combined with my crazy grin, I must have looked like an escaped madman. "Is that all you got?"

There's just something about that phrase that just gets men fired up. Like a bull to the red cape of the matador, a man will charge at the person who says that sentence, regardless of the consequences. It's like they're gripped in a berserk fit, a frenzy they're not free of until they're dead... or the one they're charging is dead.

Before I had a chance to move out of the way, or to even blink for that matter, he slammed into me with all the shattering force of his incredible bulk. I was sent sprawling onto the ground once more, my body aching even more than normal.

Baying like wolves, the others were upon me, and soon blow after bone-smashing blow was raining down upon my thin body, pain rupturing on every possible unprotected surface.

At one point, I had curled up into a ball, my head cradled between my arms. Some random foot found its way into my back sharply, and I arched, giving out a shout of pain. Other feet then began to dig themselves into my belly, and soon I had rolled over onto my hands and knees and – vomited.

"Look, he's his favourite position!" Someone – Deadeye, I think – cried.

"Ha, on yer hands and knees, yer always like that, aren't ye?" Irish Two-Fingers had cackled.

"Hold 'im up for me, would ya? I don't wanna go screwing that fag up the arse," Bruiser said gruffly.

I felt rough hands grab my arms and pull me to my feet. Whoever it was twisted my arms behind my back hard, making me cry out in pain once more as my shoulders were pulled out of their normal angle of rotation.

Vaguely, I watched as Bruiser positioned himself in front of me, that ugly sneer still on his face. He cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"Well looky here," he said, adopting a Southern drawl. "Our little pal McCarthy 'as gone and gotten 'imself all beat up. Whatever shall we do with him?"

Somehow, I mustered the strength to spit on him. The gob of blood, saliva, vomit and mucus landed across his eyes. He gave an enraged howl, bringing his fist back.

There it was. The trademark finisher. He was going to smash my face into oblivion. The people at the morgue wouldn't even be able to identify me through my dental records.

I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.

It didn't land.

Instead were gasps and an enraged howl.

I opened my eyes.

And couldn't believe what I saw.

Standing in front of me, a little to the left, was a slight young man, his longish blond hair kept back in a loose braid. He wore an old fashioned cap on his head, while a long dark coat was open to reveal his faded blue jumper and plain trousers. He had an almost a bored expression on his face, with only the hint of a frown, his bright blue eyes twinkling dangerously.

He was beautiful.

And not only that – he also held onto Bruiser's shaking wrist as if he were holding back nothing at all.

"It's not nice to play rough with the other children," he said in a soft, unaccented voice. Bruiser boggled at him.

"Blow off, if ya know what's good for you!" Bruiser cried, and pulled his hand back – but it didn't budge. Not even an inch. The blonde man continued to hold on with what looked like no effort at all, and no matter how much Bruiser struggled, he couldn't get his hand free. "Let go of me!"

"Only if you promise to leave this man alone," the blonde said softly. My heart was thudding away in its little cavity, fearing for this strange, beautiful man's safety. Didn't he know who he was messing with? How desperately outnumbered he was?

With another enraged howl, Bruiser threw his other arm forward, intent on smashing the blonde to the ground. But faster than the eye could even see, he reached forward and calmly grabbed his other wrist. The blonde man's mouth twitched in a crooked smile, and he shook his head, almost sadly.

"I did warn you," he said softly. Then he twisted both arms around, so hard and so fast that I didn't understand what had happened until I heard the sickening crunch of breaking bones and Bruiser's ugly scream of pain. The big man collapsed to the ground, and I stared in horror at his lower arms – jagged bits of bone had ripped straight through the skin and were peering up at me, blood staining the white with red as if ran in rivulets down his arm to drip heavily onto the already dirty ground. His hands were facing the wrong way.

Bruiser took one look at his arms, one more look at the blonde man – then stood up and ran away, yelling out obscenities and screaming in pain.

Slowly, the blonde man turned around. The other five who had taken part in my beating were still there. The blonde raised an eyebrow.

"Who's next?" He asked.

Deadeye, Louis, Joe, Fidget and Two-Fingers all exchanged glances. And then, as if deciding as one, they ran after Bruiser, calling for him to wait up.

The blonde man watched them run off, the crooked smile replaced by a somewhat troubled look. Behind him, I swayed on my feet, every part of my body throbbing in pain. The searing pain in my ribcage was the worst – it felt like a blunt, hot knife had been dragged slowly across the bones, several times over. I guessed several of them were broken. That probably explained why I was having trouble breathing.

I groaned, and felt my legs begin to give way, but before I hit the floor, he turned around and caught me, almost tenderly. The world danced around me.

"You poor thing…" I heard him say softly. His fingers gently brushed my eyebrow, which had split open and gushed forth blood when someone's boot kicked it. It was just one of the many injuries on my face "You're bleeding…"

I looked up then, and found myself looking straight into his blue eyes. They were a beautiful blue, a deep, unusual shade of blue that I couldn't name. They were filled with concern.

"Who are you…?" I asked through puffy lips. He smiled softly.

"My name is Kurda. Kurda Smahlt."

I swayed again in his arms, and he made a small, unhappy sound. He bent over and picked me up, lifting me as easily as a rag doll. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, nestling my face into the hollow there, acting like a small child even though in reality I was a grown man of twenty-one. He didn't seem to mind, though – Kurda just began walking down the alley, off in some direction that I didn't know.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked in a little voice, enjoying the warmth of his arms.

"To my… place," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to patch you up."

And so I was carried off, nestled in the warm arms of a beautiful man as I slipped in and out of consciousness. I didn't notice the searing pain of my ribcage screaming at me, or the puffiness of my face, or even that a heavy rain had begun to fall onto the world. All I noticed was –

_Kurda__ Kurda Smahlt._

It was a beautiful day. A damned beautiful day.

Goddamn right. It was a beautiful day.

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**A.N** Oh dear. I've started another story. Save me from myself.

But, fear not! This one shall be short! Unlike Steve and Annie's sagas, the end is already in sight for this story! It'll only be seven chapters long. Seven _short_ chapters. Mwuahahahaha!

Oops! I have not said the first name of the main character yet!

Oh well. You'll just have to find that out later, I guess. Hehe.

Whee, I'm sitting outside as I type the end of this story. I have one headphone of my iPod in one ear while the other one dangles off somewhere, so I can vaguely hear the growls of thunder through my music (currently playing 'I Touch Myself' by Jack off Jill). And now… it's beginning to rain. XD YAY!

And by the way – the next chapter for Steve is coming along just fine. I'm about halfway through. I should have it finished in the next two days. Yay!

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**Next Chapter:**

**Second**

**Harmony**

**It's Too Late**

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_"…What… are you, exactly?" _

And don't say beautiful, because I know that already.

_Kurda__ smiled, a small, sad thing, as he sat back and crossed his arms._

_"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."_

_I grinned back at him, folding my own arms._

_"I'm a musician. I'm meant to be open-minded. Try me."_

_"Honestly. I can't tell you."_

_"What, it's not like you're a blood sucking monster, are you?"_

_Silence._

_"…Are you?"_

_His intent look was my answer. I stared._

_"Personally, I prefer the term 'vampire'. It's less… hurtful." He said softly._

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	2. It's Too Late

**Discordant Melody**

** A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Second**

**Harmony**

**It's Too Late**

**----**

When I woke up on an old mattress that could have passed for a bed, my mouth tasted bitter – a grimy, disgustingly dry feeling that made me want to find a gallon of water and scull the lot. My whole body was throbbing slightly, as if it had been ran over by a steamroller. I opened my eyes blearily, to find that half the vision of my left eye was obscured. I raised my hand to touch it, and winced as soon as my fingers touched the tender flesh.

_What the…?_

I tried to remember the night before. Had I gotten into a fight at the bar last night? Had someone not liked something I played, or was I hit by a car or something?

And then I remembered.

The alley, Bruiser, the pain, the abuse, the strange, beautiful man named Kurda, being carried back to an old decrepit apartment and vaguely being aware of his fingers brushing my bare skin as he bandaged my ribs…

I bolted upright, and promptly fell back with a loud strangled cry of pain as my ribs screamed in protest of being moved so suddenly. Shutting my eyes against the pain, I gritted my teeth and groaned. In my mind, I went through every cuss I knew, cursing Bruiser and his cronies.

"Are you okay?"

Slowly, I opened my eyes, turning my head to face the source of the voice, and immediately I felt the pain ebb away. Kurda walked into sight, pulling his long dark coat on. His hair was out, no longer in that loose braid, falling free over his shoulders. If it weren't for my broken ribs, I would have jumped up then and there just to run my hands through his hair, intent on remembering the weight and texture of it against my skin.

I smiled crookedly, and winced as the movement pulled my swollen lips taught. Fresh blood began to seep through the cut slowly, and I gingerly raised my arm to wipe away the blood – but he beat me to it, crossing the room quickly and pulling out a handkerchief in one swift, practiced movement. Kneeling next to me, he gently put the cloth to my mouth, letting the white piece of material soak up the blood. I noticed then that he had a set of scars on his left cheek, three, close-set lines that looked a bit like a scar a scratch from a cat would leave.

"That was the only cut I couldn't heal," he said softly, his eyes strangely tender. "I didn't know how you would have reacted if I said I kissed you to heal your lip."

_I wouldn't have minded at all_, I found myself thinking, and despite my weariness, I somehow managed to stop myself from saying that out loud. Barely. He smiled.

"Do you want anything – say, a drink, or food? I don't have much, but the offer still stands," Kurda said. I started to shake my head slightly, then stopped and blinked, remembering my parched throat.

"Actually," I began, and he pulled away the handkerchief so he could hear me better. I ran my tongue over my parched, swollen lips, and pulled a face slightly as it ran over the cut, allowing me to taste the metallic tang of the blood. "I wouldn't mind a glass of water, please."

"All right, I'll go get it for you – but let me just warn you now, it might be bit warm, the fridge is broken," he said, standing up and heading towards the door. I blinked.

"Isn't warm water supposed to make you go to the toilet?" I called out, my words slightly slurred by the fact that I couldn't move my lips much. He paused at the door, one hand on the doorframe as he looked over his shoulder to smile at me.

"That's just an old wives' tale," he said, still grinning. "However, it's one of the only old wives' tales that's _true_."

Then he slipped out of the room, leaving me to muse by myself.

I was given time to peer around the room. It was a plain thing, my old mattress being the only piece of furniture, set in the middle, against one of the cracked, caking walls. There was an old window with a seat to my left, no curtains to hide the world outside – which was dark with rain clouds.

It was only then when I realised what he had said earlier –

_"That was the only cut I couldn't heal…I didn't know how you would have reacted if I said I kissed you to heal your lip."_

_What's going on here?_ I thought. _Here he is, a man who appeared out of nowhere and stopped one of Bruiser's finishing slam dunks, snapped said man's arms in half, and carried me halfway across town where he then patched me up._

Pausing, I brought my hand up to touch my eyebrow, where my skin had split open the night before after being kicked in the face. The skin was completely healed over, leaving a small scar.

I blinked.

_Superhuman speed, superhuman strength, and the ability to heal people with – _I paused. _"…kissed you to heal your lip…"_ was he had said _–__ heal people with his spit? What the hell is he?_

Before I had a chance to question myself, Kurda returned, a glass of water in his hand. He gently placed it on the ground as he knelt next to me.

"Do you think you can sit up?" He asked. I nodded, and began trying to pull myself up. He quickly reached forward and helped me – my flesh tingled delightfully when his hands touched my bare skin.

Soon, I was sitting up, using the old wall behind me as a support. Kurda handed me the glass, which wasn't that warm. Quickly, I tipped my head back and emptied the cup in three gulps. Then I set the cup back down again.

Kurda was staring at me, almost in amazement.

"You must have been thirsty," he observed. I smiled.

"Only slightly," I told him. He grinned back at me, taking the glass away and walking it back outside. When he returned, he stood at the doorway, his arms crossed, a small frown on his face.

"You should be able to walk around by yourself in a few hours," he informed me, nodding slightly. "Just don't stress yourself too much and you should be right. I've left you some money on the counter outside, so you can call a cab or something to drive you back home. And I suggest that you stop working down at the docks – those other men won't be happy with you at all. Just lie low – okay?"

Then he turned to leave.

"Wait!" I called. He stopped, looking back at me, an eyebrow quirked in question. I could feel my heart thumping painfully away in my chest at his expression – he was just so… "Are you leaving?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," he said, turning back to me. "My work in this city is done, and I've got somewhere to go to – uh, a flight at six."

"But… you can't leave." I said. Both his eyebrows shot up now.

"Why ever not?"

"Because…" _Because I think I'm in love with you._ "Because you don't even know my name yet."

He grinned, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorpost.

"Fine then. Tell me your name."

"My… my name is Daegan McCarthy."

He smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Daegan. Goodbye, now." Then he turned to leave again.

"No, wait!" I cried again. Once more he turned around.

"Now what?"

"I… uh… can't stand up without someone's help?" I said unsurely. He looked back at me, his blue eyes seemingly unamused. I grinned sheepishly. "What can I say? I'm hopeless!"

Kurda looked out the window – I followed his gaze, and noticed, far out on the horizon, the clouds had broken slightly to reveal the crepuscular colours of dawn. He sighed, then wandered back over to me and sat down next to the mattress.

"You won, Daegan," he said, shrugging off his coat and grinning. "But honestly, you're going to regret asking me to stay. I'm the most boring person you'll ever meet."

I grinned back at him.

"Somehow, I doubt that." I told him. He rose his eyebrow again, though this time it was a little more comical.

"And why would you suppose that, Mr. McCarthy?" He asked. I blinked, looking away.

"Well… last night. You snapped Bruiser's arms. In half. And the thing with the healing. That's not… normal." I said softly after a pause. Kurda looked away.

"I can't say I'm proud or happy by the way I dealt with that 'Bruiser' last night…" He said, trailing off.

"If that were me, I would've been!"

Kurda looked up sharply.

"It was violent. There are _always_ options other than violence. _Always._ This whole world doesn't have to revolve around fighting," he said heatedly, sitting up a little bit straighter. I shrank back a little, and he smiled as if in apology, sinking back down again. "But then again, I suppose you have a reason for saying that. I probably would have been the same, had I been in your position."

We sat in silence for a few moments, neither of us knowing what to say. However, there was a question running through my head. One seemingly simple question that wouldn't go away. I couldn't say it out loud though. I was too afraid to. What if I offended him? What if I scared him off?

I don't think I would have been able to stand it if that had happened.

And then, somehow, I managed to gather my strength. I gathered my courage together, and… asked him.

"Kurda…?"

"Yes, Daegan?"

"…What… are you, exactly?"

_And don't say beautiful, because I know that already._

Kurda smiled, a small, sad thing, as he sat back and crossed his arms.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

I grinned back at him, folding my own arms.

"I'm a musician. I'm meant to be open-minded. Try me."

"Honestly. I can't tell you."

"What, it's not like you're a blood sucking monster, right?"

Silence.

"…Right?"

His intent look was my answer. I stared.

"Personally, I prefer the term 'vampire'. It's less… hurtful." He said softly, looking at me directly. He wasn't ashamed or afraid of what he was. He was proud of it.

Blankly, I stared at him, unable to comprehend what I had just found out. This man sitting next to me, this beautiful, gentle man, my knight in shining armour was a –

Vampire.

But… Kurda didn't look any different. Except for the ethereal beauty, and his abnormally long-looking nails, Kurda looked like an average man. There was nothing different or strange about him. He seemed completely normal.

_Yes, well, I look 'completely normal', and look at what _I_ am_, I thought, almost bitterly.

"But… you could have sucked my body dry by now… so that means you're a good vampire, right?" I asked. Kurdra gave me a crooked grin.

"Well, we don't quite 'suck blood out of your body' as many people seem to think… but yes, I am a _good_ vampire, if there are such things." He said. I nodded, settling back against my wall to think again. So what if he was a vampire? He was beautiful, he was nice, and that was all that mattered…

"Okay." I said, nodding happily. Kurda looked confused.

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, you're a vampire. What now?"

"What, you're not… scared of me, or anything?" He asked. I laughed, then winced as I hurt my ribs.

"Hey, it's just the same as me – just because I have a different sexual orientation to other men does not make me a freak or … an alien, even. And just because you have, well, different eating habits to me, does not make you different, either." I said.

"Oh. So you're…" Kurda trailed off, and I nodded, pulling a face. He grinned. "Well then. We make a good pair. A vampire and a homosexual, both social outcasts in a homophobic and God-fearing society."

"Wait… you don't… kill people… when you drink from them… do you?" I asked, eying him warily. He laughed, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, I only take a little bit from different people. I never drain a person. It's against our codes."

"'Our'? 'Codes'? How many vampires are there?"

"Several thousand, I believe. And yes, we even have our own government system, too."

Soon, I was finding out all about vampires and their ways. They healed quicker and lived longer than normal humans, though they could still die from old age, and had superhuman speed and strength. Sunlight eventually killed them. They were not evil, so holy items didn't work against them – any weapon could kill them, if it were strong enough and used in the correct way.

They were a respectful lot, and did not kill those they drank from, though they did enjoy challenges and fighting sports quite a lot. They had generals, who acted as the police, and princes, who ruled over them all, and a basic headquarters known as Vampire Mountain – which I guessed to most likely in some cold Arctic region, since he wouldn't tell me where it was exactly. I even found out Kurda's status in the vampire world – he was a General, a fairly high-ranked one too, though he despised fighting, unlike his brothers and occasional sister. He also had a hobby of cartography – or mapping.

"So, now that you've told me all this," I said when we came to a lull in the conversation. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Kill you, of course," he said, and for a split second, I thought he was telling the truth – but then he grinned, and shook his head. "I don't know actually."

"I have an idea," I said quickly. The idea had popped into my mind a little while ago, and I was eager to voice it. If he agreed to it, it would mean I could stay with him – and maybe he would realise the way I felt. "You said that vampires heal quicker, right?"

"I don't think I like where this is heading," Kurda said, almost warily. I smiled slowly.

"Well… this broken rib of mine is really getting on my nerves…" I trailed off.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"But…"

"You don't understand what it's like, Daegan. My people, they're a bloodthirsty lot… literally, too. And once you become a full vampire, your life changes completely – you will never see the sun again," Kurda said.

_Why would I want the sun if I had you?_

"Kurda," I said softly. "Will you make me a vampire?"

Kurda cursed softly under is breath, standing up and running a hand through his hair. My fingers twitched, wanting to do the exact same thing to him.

"Don't you understand what will happen, Daegan? You will drink blood from humans. They will be your _prey_. Could you stand that, drinking from a human being? Could you stand living your life in darkness? Could you stand not being able to bear children?"

I snorted.

"I'm gay, remember? I never intended to have children in the first place." My dark humour disappeared. "Yes. I am prepared for all of that. I want to become a vampire. I want to be like you." _I want to be with you._ I didn't add that part, though.

He sank back down next to me, his expression intent.

"Are you sure about this, Daegan? Completely certain?"

I hesitated for a second, thinking. I was just about to become a vampire, just to follow a man I had only met a few hours ago. Was I crazy?

Yes.

And was I in love enough to act this crazy?

Hell yes.

Slowly, I smiled.

"I have nothing to lose."

Kurda shook his head slightly, sighing.

"I have to admit," he said, looking back up, "I wouldn't mind the company. The three others I have blooded are no longer under my care, so it gets a little lonely wandering around the world by myself. And you're an interesting person – I like you.

"Before I do this, though, I have to tell you – you will be a half-vampire first, acting as my guardian during the day. You won't need as much blood as me, you'll still be able to move around in the sun, but you won't be as strong or swift as me. Your spit won't heal, and you won't be able to knock people out just by breathing on them."

I nodded, trying to ignore the fact that my heart was thumping loudly, so loudly that it was painful, and that there was a little voice in the back of my head singing _'He likes me, he likes me!'_

"But first -" He reached forward and drew his nail across the top of my hand, creating a small cut. Immediately, he put his mouth to it, and I felt the funny sensation of him sucking at the blood. Then he sat back, rolling the blood around his mouth, as if tasting it. I watched in awe as the cut on my hand started healing itself.

Kurda nodded.

"You have good blood." He said simply. Then, taking hold of my hands, he brought them towards himself, facing the palms upwards. I noticed then the small scars on his fingertips.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked one more time. I nodded, my face set. He sighed. "All right then. Just promise me one thing, one small thing: you will always follow what I say, and never, under any circumstances, spill unnecessary blood. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

He nodded, this time with finality.

"Very well. Remember, you were the one who asked this. If you ever regret this, I have the right to say – 'I told you so!'"

So, on the dawn of some random, cloudy day in the year of 1976, in a dirty old apartment, in a dirty old sea town that has long since run decrepit, I became a half-vampire.

I became Kurda Smahlt's assistant.

----

**A.N **

S-A: Yayness! XD You're always first to review my fics, you realise that? Ehehehe. -glomps you-

----

**Next Chapter:**

**Third**

**Dolce**

**The Bitter End**

----

_They were the best years of my life, however long they were. It was a thirty-year long summer, filled with laugher, love and fun, warmth and happiness._

_But then, like all great things, those years came to an end. What comes up, must come down. That was the rule of the universe: equivalent trade, karma, an eye for an eye, tit for tat – the years I had had to be repaid. That was life, que sera sera, without all the cheerfulness usually associated with that phrase._

_My happiness ended on one otherwise normal day._

_It was the day he arrived._

_Darren Shan._

_And with every step that boy took –_

_Tragedy followed._

----


	3. The Bitter End

**Discordant Melody**

**A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Third**

**Dolce**

**The Bitter End**

**----**

From the day I became his assistant, Kurda and I were never separated. For thirty years we lived life together, sharing triumphs and joys, sadness and tears. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, I was there by his side, loyally following every step of the man I loved.

Two years after becoming a half-vampire, I was fully blooded, and accepted into the vampiric fold, though Kurda never told a soul that he blooded me himself. Instead, he explained my sudden appearance as an abandoned half-vampire he happened upon one day, my original sire having left me cruelly to die. I don't know how many people actually bought the story, but it was accepted.

I met Kurda's three other assistants – Cyrus, Puck and Granz, all of whom were young for vampires, and just as devoted to Kurda as I was. They all had dreams for peace with our distant cousins – the vampaneze.

Kurda worked close with the vampaneze, a break-off group from the vampires. They, like the vampires, were respectful; however, they showed this respect differently. They found it honourable to completely drain and kill the human they were drinking from, and they seemed to have a problem with authority. They believed that a few vampires should not have the right to rule over all of them – that each and everyone of them was equal to the rest.

In some lights, the vampaneze were honourable creatures. I respected them in most ways, except for their habit of killing their victims and going crazy. That withstanding, I understood why Kurda worked so hard with them, in order to bring peace between our two people.

The first time I went with him on one of these 'ambassadorial missions' of his, I was given a set of scars on my face, almost identical to Kurda's. When I was cut, I jumped up and down in pain, the fresh wounds stinging in the open air.

"I hope you washed your hands before you did that!" I shouted at the confused vampaneze who had scratched me, a man named Marcus. Kurda just laughed at me, and gently dabbed at my face with his ever-present handkerchief.

"Why don't you just spit on it?" I asked curiously. He smiled.

"Because if I spit on it, it would heal over completely, and then we'd have to get you a whole new set of scars, wouldn't we?"

I winced at that.

----

Every few years we would return to Vampire Mountain (which, by the way, I was right about - it was in some distant cold Arctic region) where we would recuperate. And by recuperate, I mean get beaten up by Arra and Vanez.

Having given up on Kurda ever becoming a proper fighter, Vanez began work on me, training me to become useful on a battlefield and how to hold a staff without falling over it. Despite the fact that I became skilful with it, I was mindful of my promise to Kurda, and not once in the entire thirty years did I use my staff to harm somebody.

However, I did use my training to try to knock the great Arra Sails from the bars. Though I never could, I always gave it a try, and always managed to put up a good fight. Eventually, she and I developed a mutual respect for each other. Every time we visited the Mountain, she would give me a tiny smile.

"Is your tail bone ready for another hard landing?" She would ask. I would grin roguishly back.

"You bet ya."

That cocky remark would then be followed by me landing painfully on my ass soon after, bruised and bleeding.

Kurda would look at me, raise an eyebrow, and shake his head.

"Stupid little elf," he'd say, ruffling my hair. I hated that nickname, and he knew it. I had always hated my elfish appearance, and, once finding that out, he always teased me about it. I couldn't hate him for it though. It was Kurda, after all.

----

Every so often, on our annual rounds around the world, working with the vampaneze, we would visit one in particular: the one who had given me my scars, Marcus van Kütriht. He was one of the more respected vampaneze, a man who many of his kind looked up to, mainly because of his military past. He, like Kurda, was fairly young for a creature of the night, having come from approximately the same era. He was an experienced commander, leading his troops efficiently.

In our travels, we also came across a young woman named Peregrine Walters, one of the few vampire hunters who knew the subtle difference between vampaneze and vampires. She was desperately seeking revenge for some wrong done to her in the past by – coincidence? – Marcus. Kurda never gave her the correct location of Marcus, mainly because of the friendship the two of them had developed, but he pointed her in the right direction and continued to keep in contact with her for several years.

----

Six years after the announcement of Kurda's investiture, which was to be held at the next council, Kurda and I went on an adventure. We lost ourselves in the vast labyrinth of Vampire Mountain, Kurda mapping every turn and dip along the way. Finally, we found a large cavern, which Kurda immediately began working on. Meanwhile, I sat on top of a rock and pulled out my flute, one of the only items that had stayed with me throughout the previous twenty-four years.

Over the next half an hour, we were silent, he happily sketching down the contours of the cavern while I composed a song on my flute, the soft melody echoing eerily in the large space. It was an odd song, at once pleasant, at other times not, but I continued to play, losing myself in its rhythm, closing my eyes to concentrate. When the song finally wound down to a close, I opened my eyes to find Kurda sitting on the ground in front of me, smiling up at me. I grinned sheepishly.

"That was beautiful," he said softly. He cocked his head to the side, still smiling. "What was it called?"

"'Ode to a Beautiful Prince'," I said at once. I blinked, surprised at myself. I didn't actually have a name for it, but that just came out of nowhere.

Kurda's smile continued to spread and he kept on looking at me, as if studying me.

"You know," he said, unable to wipe the smile from his face. "If you were shirtless, you would look like Oberon, King of the Fairies."

I glared at him.

"Oh, yes, and Puck would be your Robin Goodfellow, running around and doing all your dirty work for you while you try to win your love's heart."

My glare softened as a thought came to my head.

"He's gay, you know."

"Who, our Puck or the Bard's Puck?"

"No – Oberon."

"Oberon? But he loved Titania."

"Well, Rupert Everett, really. Now _there's_ a hot gay man."

Kurda's expression suddenly changed, becoming almost wistfully thoughtful. He smiled in an almost cheeky way.

"There seems to be a pattern there," he said. "Something about 'hot gay men' making good fairies and elves."

I blinked, trying to understand what he had said. Utterly confused, I just stared at him as he stood up and stepped towards me, a smile on his face.

"Ah, my poor little elf," he said softly. "It seems he is confused."

Then, standing up on his toes, he placed a soft kiss onto my lips – so soft, so gentle, that I thought I had imagined it. As quickly and suddenly as it happened, it ended with Kurda stepping back lightly, his hands clasped behind his back and a happy smile on his face.

"Is my little elf still confused?"

All I could do was blink in confusion.

----

A few months before Kurda's investiture, we visited Germany again, paying Marcus another visit. Gavner Purl, a General, like Kurda, accompanied us, having business to attend to in that general direction.

One of those nights, we went to a nightclub, though Kurda didn't tell me why. He made me sit in a booth separate to him, where I could watch him – to my utter surprise, I saw Peregrine. To my even greater surprise, Kurda told her where Marcus was. Later, Kurda informed me that he was doing it as a favour to Marcus, in return for the help the vampaneze was giving Kurda in his upcoming plan.

It was a plan he had been plotting for, for years, covering every nook and cranny, looking at it from different angles and making sure there were no loopholes or things he missed. It was a plan so perfect, so well thought out, that I knew it couldn't fail.

I believed in Kurda's plan. Not only because I loved him, but because I also believed in peace between the vampires and vampaneze. And that peace had to come at a price.

Even if it would eventually mean our deaths for being traitors.

----

The thirty years that followed my twenty-one years as a human were possibly the best years of my life, however long they were. It was like a thirty-year long summer, filled with laugher, love and fun, warmth and happiness.

But then, like all great things, those years came to an end. What goes up, must come down. That was the rule of the universe: equivalent trade, karma, an eye for an eye, tit for tat – the years I had had to be repaid. That was life, que sera sera, without all the cheerfulness usually associated with that phrase.

My happiness ended on one otherwise normal day.

It was the day he arrived.

Darren Shan.

And with every step that boy took –

Tragedy followed.

----

**A.N** Hehe, all the Oberon and Puck business is from one of William Shakespeare's plays, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. It was turned into a movie, in 1999, with Kevin Kline, Michelle Pfeiffer, Rupert Everett and Calista Flockhart. And I'm being honest about Rupert Everett. I only found out about him being gay when some girls in my class told us while we were watching the movie. Half the class cried. Including the teacher. XD

Bleh. Another chapter I do not like. But woe is me, I cannot make it any better. Where have my muses gone? stalks her muses

----

**Next Chapter:**

**Fourth**

**Rubato**

**Behind Blue Eyes **

**----**

_For the first time, we fought._

_"Why are you trying to help him?!" I cried, barely stopping myself from stamping my foot. Kurda ignored me, shuffling through the heap of maps that permanently cluttered his desk._

_"I'm helping him," he said steadily, "because it is stupid for one so young to be killed, just because he failed a stupid test that was too hard for him in the first place."_

_"Is that the only reason?" I asked, surprising myself with the bitterness in my voice._

_"No, it is not," Kurda replied, still shuffling through the pages. "He is young. He is open-minded. He can be persuaded to our cause."_

_I crossed my arms. Vaguely, I could feel that ever-present jealousy bubbling in my chest._

_"And?"_

_Kurda stopped his shuffling, and faced me slowly. He still held some maps in his hand. There was a slight frown on his face._

_"No, Daegan," he said softly. "I do not love Darren."_

----


	4. Behind Blue Eyes

**Discordant Melody**

**A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Fourth**

**Rubato**

**Behind Blue Eyes **

**----**

For the first time, we fought.

"Why are you trying to help him?!" I cried, barely stopping myself from stamping my foot. Kurda ignored me, shuffling through the heap of maps that permanently cluttered his desk.

"I'm helping him," he said steadily, "because it is stupid for one so young to be killed, just because he failed a stupid test that was too hard for him in the first place."

"Is that the only reason?" I asked, surprising myself with the bitterness in my voice.

"No, it is not," Kurda replied, still shuffling through the pages. "He is young. He is open-minded. He can be persuaded to our cause."

I crossed my arms. Vaguely, I could feel that ever-present jealousy bubbling in my chest.

"And?"

Kurda stopped his shuffling, and faced me slowly. He still held some maps in his hand. There was a slight frown on his face.

"No, Daegan," he said softly. "I do not love Darren."

He fell quiet, his beautiful blue eyes falling to the paper he held in his hand. A small sound, a little 'hmm' of satisfaction, emitted from his throat. Then he headed towards the open door.

"I won't be long," he called over his shoulder. Then he disappeared.

I was left alone in the room, staring at the doorway, my arms still crossed. The feeling that never went away was still there, bubbling and growling angrily in the pit of my stomach, as if I had eaten something that I did not agree with.

"You don't love him?" I asked the air, still glaring. "It doesn't seem like it."

Several weeks ago, a few days before my third Council began, Darren Shan arrived at Vampire Mountain. As soon as he stepped into our lives, I knew everything would change. The first night after he arrived, Kurda came to me, puffed and out of breath, saying something about a Little Person bringing news of the Lord of the Vampaneze. He was soon chased away by a horde of question-bearing vampires, all who wanted to know the truth of the rumours they were hearing.

I was to find out later that said Little Person, also known as Harkat Mulds, was a companion of Master Shan – who, I also later found out, was the first child to be blooded in over a century.

Over the next few days, something that had never happened before happened:

Kurda did not spend his days with me.

In the past, he took me with him everywhere he went – and by everywhere, I mean _everywhere_. Except for the toilet, but that's understandable. There are not many people out there in the world who enjoy having someone standing next to them while they're taking a crap.

But then suddenly, he didn't. I would see him, giving Darren a tour around the Mountain, or accompanying Darren and Seba Niles somewhere, or taking Darren to the Hall of Sports.

I was there the first time I saw Darren, doing a 'death match' on the bars with Arra and eight others, including Puck. As soon as I saw the flash of Kurda's blonde hair, my concentration wavered, giving one of the others a chance to knock me off. I was first to fall, landing heavily on my back. For a few moments, I lay there winded, blinking dazedly and wondering what the hell had happened to me.

Then I remembered.

Scrambling to my feet so that my head began spinning, I spotted them again, talking to Vanez about weapons.

Instead, I found myself studying this amazing Darren Shan that everyone seemed to be talking about.

He was a small, runty sort of kid, with messy dark hair and astonishingly large blue-green eyes in a childishly open face. His skin, like most of vampires I knew, was pale, almost deathly so, though there was a slight rosy tint to his cheeks. He was scruffy, in a good sort of way.

_He's gonna grow up to be quite goo –_ But I stopped myself from finishing the thought, clenching my fists. Kurda would have noticed that too. It was almost no wonder he spent so much time with the boy…

Vaguely, I sensed Puck approach me, having been knocked off the bars. After Kurda, he was my best friend – we both totally devoted our selves to our sire, and both had elfish appearances that were often the butts of many jokes.

"He's not even good looking," I found myself saying before I could stop myself, crossing my arms angrily.

_Sure he's not. Weren't you just thinking –_

_Shut up, you,_ I told myself angrily.

Beside me, Puck grinned.

"Jealous, are we?" He said. I turned to him, and raised an eyebrow when I saw he sported a bleeding nose. He grinned. "Arra got me a good un, she did."

"I'm not jealous," I growled, eyes flaring. Puck laughed, and tweaked my nose.

"Sure you're not," he said, still grinning. "That's why your oh-so-beautifully-green eyes have just gone five shades greener, little elf!"

While I accepted being called 'little elf' by Kurda – secretly loved it, in fact – I did not appreciate it coming from anyone else. I was just about to leap on the taller vampire to beat the stuffing out of him when I heard someone clear his throat behind me. My head whipped around while my body stayed frozen, one hand pulled back in preparation for a punch.

Kurda smiled, shaking his head.

"Now, now, _little elf, _that's not a nice way to treat your friends," he said cheerfully, then gestured to Darren, who was standing next to him. "This is Darren, by the way. Darren, this is Puck, and Daegan, a… _close_ friend of mine."

I hardly noticed the stress he put on the word 'close'. Instead, I quickly dropped my arms. Darren grinned, sticking out his hand. I eyed it warily for a second, then shook it – though I shook it for a little longer and harder than etiquette required.

"Nice to meet you, Daegan," he said cheerfully, then repeated the same process with Puck.

When Kurda and Darren turned away to get introduced to Arra, Puck grinned, elbowing me hard in the ribs.

"He seems like nice kid," he said. I crossed my arms, watching Darren darkly.

"I don't like him."

Puck shook his head, still grinning.

"Remember, Daegan," he said, clapping me on the back so hard that I lost my balance slightly. I glared at him, but he continued. "You're Kurda's _close_ friend – he won't go cheating on you with a kid any time soon. So stop being so jealous."

I grunted, my eyes never leaving the boy-vampire. I watched as Kurda dragged him one way, then another. Kurda argued with Vanez over Darren. Kurda gave Darren advice.

Darren Shan.

I did not like him, Sam I am. I do not like Darren Shan. Not a little, not a lot, not at all.

I knew he would bring trouble with him.

And trouble did come.

----

Gavner was the first to die.

I found out later, when Kurda came back, blood soaking the front of his tunic and hands. He collapsed into his hammock, staring down at the crimson almost in disbelief.

I stood slowly from the desk, where I had been sitting, impatiently tapping a pen. I took in the blood, the expression, and knew something was wrong.

"What happened?" I asked quietly. He didn't answer immediately, instead taking a deep, steadying breath.

"I…"

And he told me. He told me exactly what happened. How he was leading Darren to freedom. How Gavner appeared. How they came across our vampaneze troops. How Gavner was killed. How Darren fell over the falls in the Hall of the Final Voyage.

My heart sank.

"I knew he is was…" I began softly. "From the moment I saw him, I knew he was..." But I trailed off. What did I think of him exactly? I knew I didn't like him – but could that have just been because I was… _jealous?_

"I have to look for him." Kurda said shortly.

"What, so you can kiss his ouchies better?" I asked sharply. Kurda looked up at me slowly, his eyes filled with a terrible sadness.

"What's wrong with you, Daegan? What have I done to you?" He asked, his voice quiet and wavering. I looked away.

"Nothing." I muttered softly.

Out in the hall, we heard a loud ruckus – people running, shouting, asking questions, and generally falling over each other. Quite a few times, we heard the name 'Shan' mentioned. No guesses what was happening. Kurda grinned slightly.

"Ah. So they have finally discovered his disappearance. I'd better go and wash myself. Then I'll ask the Princes if I can organise a search party of sorts to look for him."

"But – why?!"

Kurda looked at me evenly.

"To make sure he's dead."

I stared at him.

"We don't want him to wander back in and reveal our secret. Not when we're so close to achieving it."

"Can… I come with you?" I asked. Kurda smiled, standing up and putting a hand on my shoulder.

"No, Daegan. You stay here. Make sure Glada understands that we are still going on with the plan."

"But -"

"Don't worry, elf," Kurda said, slipping his hand under my chin and lightly pulling my face up. "I'll take Granz and Puck with me. Nothing bad will come of." He kissed me lightly on my nose. And then, once more, he left the room, leaving me to muse by myself.

_Why does he do this to me?_ I asked myself quietly. _Why does he always leave me alone in the room?_

----

To our ultimate relief, Darren was never found, nor was Gavner's body. They were both deemed missing, presumed dead, and all but forgotten.

Then came the day.

The day of Kurda's investiture.

I remember the day well, one of the clearest memories I held. I mean, it wasn't every day that the man that you loved was to become a Prince.

And it wasn't every day that the man you loved was (rightfully) accused of treachery.

The Generals had lined up along the walls leading to the open doors of the Dome, weapons visible, like all the vampires that had shown up for the investiture. I stood next to Puck, beaming happily, as I watched the slow procession that included Kurda slowly make their way towards the Princes, who were at the front of the cavern, all three dressed regally.

I was mesmerised by Kurda – he looked resplendent in his loose white clothes, while his blonde hair was left out, the soft curtain of golden-silver framing his bowed, ethereal face. Out of all the Princes, I knew he would look the best. He would look the part. He was beautiful. I loved him.

And he loved me.

My heart was speeding, thumping, bursting, screaming with joy.

So mesmerised by the beauty of the man I loved that when the dirty, flour-covered boy stepped out from the walls, flanked by two wolves, it took me several moments to understand what was happening.

"_Stop!"_ He cried.

Silence. Quickly followed by confusion.

As soon as Darren showed his face, Puck, Granz and Cyrus leaped into action. Puck rushed passed me, his spear raised and ready to strike – but he was soon dragged to the ground by another vampire, as was Cyrus. However, Granz, twirling his trademark knives swiftly as he made his way towards Darren, was quickly overpowered by the two wolves that had followed the boy. He was soon dead.

I began to move forward, in order to protect my love, but Kurda had opened his eyes and was looking directly at me. He shook his head so faintly that I almost didn't see it. But I could see it in his eyes – grave, sad. It was almost as if he had accepted what had happened.

Looking hopelessly towards Cyrus and Puck as they struggled with their guards, I lowered my weapon and bowed my head, defeated. He had told me not to do a thing. And, as I had once sworn, I did as he told me.

I would not protect him, no matter how much it killed me.

What followed was a blur to me. Darren accused Kurda of betrayal – though what he said was true, hatred towards the boy flared within me, and I wanted to leap forward and strangle the stupid child where he stood. Cyrus killed himself, slipping a knife through his own chest. And all the while, Kurda remained where he stood, watching the event unfold with sad, somewhat jaded eyes.

And then, came one of the many moments that would remain in my heart forever:

"You don't deny the charge?" The stern Prince Arrow shouted, his face livid. The tiniest flicker of a smirk spread over Kurda's face.

"I do not."

My stomach dropped, and before I could stop myself, I was screaming out to him.

"_Kurda_" I cried, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. "_Kurda__, no!"_

But my screams were drowned out by the shouts and cries of those around me, all who were crying for Kurda's execution. Helplessly, I looked around me, the tears blurring my vision. Everyone was surging forward, punching their fists in the air in the barbaric manner that Kurda and I so despised as they bayed for the disgraced prince-to-be's blood.

Hatred boiled within me, an emotion even more intense than my jealousy ever was. It was funny. I had never really hated anyone before – heck, I didn't even hate Bruiser, even after all the pain he put me through. But now, seeing these people scream for Kurda to be killed, I…

I hated them.

Didn't they understand?

_Couldn't_ they understand?

He had done it for them.

But they wanted to kill him for it.

He had tried to save them.

And yet they were going to strip his beautiful body naked for the whole world to see as they blindfolded him and laid him face-up in a cage, to be dropped onto a bed of stakes over and over again until he died.

For the first time in thirty years I hated what I had become.

I hated vampires.

But most of all…

I hated Darren Shan.

I looked back up to Kurda. Even through my tears, I could see he was looking straight at me, his expression forlorn.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed.

A small smile tugged at my lips, and I shook my head.

"No," I mouthed back. "I'm the one who's sorry."

Kurda and Puck were soon dragged away by guards, and slowly the rest of the vampire population were told to leave. I followed, feeling –

Numb.

Empty.

Helpless. Oh so helpless.

Ruined.

Everything was ruined.

Kurda, my love, my beautiful was going to die…

And I had done nothing, _nothing,_ to stop them taking him away.

I had betrayed him.

I could still see him, his pale face framed by his golden hair, his blue eyes staring at me forlornly. They were sad. They were hurt.

They were betrayed.

Betrayed by me, because I had done as he had told me and done nothing to protect him.

"Daegan," someone called. I turned around slowly to see Vanez striding towards me, his eyes dark. He came to a stop beside me, and quickly looked around, as if checking to make sure no one was listening. Everyone around us was too busy talking vehemently and growling at each other, all of them describing what they would do if they could get their hands on Kurda and Puck. I closed me eyes, trying to block them out, and focused on Vanez instead. "You were close with Kurda – actually, I'd even heard you and he were mates. Did you know anything about this?"

For a second, I thought about telling him. Telling him that I did know, and that I was part of the whole plot as well, so take me, take me away with him and let me be executed with him, so that we could stay together for the rest of eternity…

But the words wouldn't come out of my throat. I opened my mouth, making obscure sounds. Finally, the tears overwhelmed me, and I was crying again, shaking my head. Vanez grunted, and patted me on the back as kindly as his stiff, military-trained body could allow him.

"I understand, Daegan," he said softly. "I feel betrayed by him as well. I was even stupid enough to believe he was my friend. That just proves it – you can trust no one."

And then he walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall, trying in vain to wipe away my tears.

"No, you don't understand," I said through gritted teeth. "He's not the one who betrayed us. _I_ was the one who betrayed _him._"

I felt so…

Empty.

----

**A.N** That kinda felt a bit rushed. It was, wasn't it? But then again, I didn't want to copy it straight from the book. So I had to make it rushed. Right?

Hehe. If you read book six again, just after Kurda gets dragged away, the Princes and Darren are talking about if there are any more conspirators. I find it funny that they believe there weren't, and yet I've made another one.

Whee, the sugar and lack of sleep are getting to me.

-dies-

S-A: Yay, I'm being stalked by someone! You make a-me feel so a-loved. Ehehehehe. And I'll try to put more of my grotty sense of humour into these fics of mine. Don't know if it'll work, though. O.o

Die Kikyo Die: Thanks! Ya, I did get it from FMA (teh W00TNESS!) and I just luuuurve that saying. 'Toka koka…' Or however the hell they spell it in Japanese. XD –beats that face up for overuse- And I tried not to put the other fics into this one as much as possible, even though they are linked. More will come eventually. Hehehe.

----

**Next Chapter:**

**Fifth**

**Dissonance**

**Emotion Sickness **

**----**

_The freezing cold water of the 'showers' soon allowed me to get a reign over my emotions. I just stood there, allowing the water to tumble down my body. Vaguely, I could hear other vampires walk in and out, also cleaning themselves of blood. As they did they shouted and sang victoriously, and for the second time that day, I was sickened._

_Sickened at the barbarity of my people.__ Whoever came into their path, they would slaughter, innocent bystander or no. Kill first, ask questions later, if they were innocent – oh well._

_Disgusted, I stepped out of the shower, quickly towelled myself dry, dressed, and left._

**----**


	5. Emotion Sickness

**Discordant Melody**

**A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Fifth**

**Dissonance**

**Emotion Sickness**

----

I felt sickened. So physically sickened that I had to rush to the nearest water closet to regurgitate my breakfast as soon as my 'shift' in the skirmish was complete. I emerged some ten minutes later, stinking of blood and vomit. Outside the small water closet, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. My body shook with unshed tears. I could feel the blood that had splattered all over me in the fighting finally start to harden, caking my body and clothes in its heaviness.

Slowly, I sank to the ground, the tears bursting through the barrier that had held them back for so long.

"Why?" I asked softly, gritting my teeth and knuckling at the tears with my fists. "It wasn't meant to be that way. They weren't supposed to be slaughtered."

A bout of violent sobs racked through my body, making me shake uncontrollably. I shook my head from side to side, side to side, trying to block out the images printed in my vision. The bloody images of innocent men being slaughtered, without reason.

"Why did they kill them?" I asked, louder now. "Why?!"

_Darren killed Vaschel – a boy no older than himself! Why did he do it? And why was I forced to kill Hegh? Why did they push me into him – I spilt blood! I spilt it unnecessarily!_

_Why? Why? Why? Why…?_

And so it continued for the next few minutes. I eventually got a grip on myself, pulling myself up slowly. Still the images ran through my head, unwilling to free me of their terrible visions.

They wouldn't let me go.

They wouldn't let me go.

As I walked towards the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl in order to cleanse myself of the blood I…

Cried.

And no matter what I did, I couldn't get my body to stop shaking.

----

For some reason, I was one of the only vampires in the entire Mountain who didn't mind taking a ten-minute shower. The water was freezing – but that didn't matter to me. At one stage in my past life, I lived in a cold region where hot water wasn't available. At least, I think I did.

The freezing cold water of the 'showers' soon allowed me to get a reign over my emotions. I just stood there, allowing the water to tumble down my body. Vaguely, I could hear other vampires walk in and out, also cleaning themselves of blood. As they did they shouted and sang victoriously, and for the second time that day, I was sickened.

Sickened at the barbarity of my people. Whoever came into their path, they would slaughter, innocent bystander or no. Kill first, ask questions later, if they were innocent – oh well.

Disgusted, I stepped out of the shower, quickly towelled myself dry, dressed, and left.

----

Twenty minutes later – ten of those spent pacing and arguing with myself, the other ten spent walking slowly towards my destination – I stepped into a long, dark corridor. Along the sides were arched doorways, cast in darkness as the flickering flames of the torches threw shadows at them. It smelt in here.

Smelt of death.

Of death and despair.

Of lost hope.

Towards the end of the corridor, a pair of green-clad guards stood between two of the cells, standing at attention, their faces deathly serious. In a dark corner, I also noticed a pair of pale-faced Guardians, talking quietly amongst themselves. I shuddered as I saw them, then made my way down towards the end of the corridor.

Towards Kurda's cell.

Several cells before it, though, I stopped, cocking my head to the side. I could just hear the low hum of conversation, coming from the cell that held Kurda.

"…sorry, Kurda, I, I didn't…"

"It's all right, Darren."

My insides froze.

"…but…"

"No. I won't accept an apology. Even if my plan had succeeded, it would have been my fate to die anyway. You appearing when you did just -"

"I'm sorry, Kurda!"

"Wait – Darren!"

The boy stumbled backwards into view, tears running clearly on his dirty cheeks in the firelight. He shook his head, still staring back into the cell, as I went unnoticed.

"I'm sorry."

Then, bowing his head, he turned and ran, pushing passed me, and disappeared into the darkness.

"You're not very good with kids, are you, Kurda?" A voice that must have been Puck, a little closer than Kurda's, called out from his cell. The guard closest to me turned around and banged his spear butt heavily against the bars.

"Shut up, traitor!" He snarled.

"Shutting up." Puck called back. Even if I couldn't see his face, I knew he was smiling cheekily. The guard just growled, and straightened himself.

I remained where I was, my face hidden in the shadows. I felt unsure. I didn't know what to do. After seeing Darren visit Kurda, I was kind of dreading seeing him now. Not only that, I was also… jealous.

How I _hated_ that boy. No matter what he did, he always made me feel _some_ kind of negative emotion, something that I was so unused to. That stupid child had ruined my life, had changed me completely, and I hated him. Hated him with a passion of a thousand burning suns. In fact, I hated him so much, that I wished he _were_ standing in the path of a burning thousand suns. He would melt in an instant.

As I smiled humourlessly at my weak joke, a guard, the larger of the two, finally noticed me.

"Hey, you," he barked, making me jump in surprise. "Keep moving."

Cautiously, I stepped forward.

"I just wanted… to see Kurda."

As soon as I stepped into the light, the guard recognised me. He exchanged glances with his companion, then looked back down at me again.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to talk with him."

"I can't allow you through."

"You let Shan through!" I cried, then checked myself. I closed my eyes, a thought coming to my head. "I won't be passing him a knife so that he can kill himself with it. I am unarmed – you can search me, if you want." Calmly, I spread my arms, looking up at the guard. Once again, he exchanged a glance with his friend. Then he turned back to me, the disgust clearly shown on his face.

"Just go through," he said, his tone almost a growl. "I don't want to have to touch _you._"

I flinched automatically at his tone, but inside, it didn't hurt. I was used to the snide remarks, the dirty looks. I had hoped, when I became a vampire, that I would leave all that behind – but I didn't. Vampires were more similar to humans than they believed themselves to be.

Quietly, I slipped passed the two guards but stopped when I reached the cell that held Kurda. I heard him move slightly when he saw me – but I turned back to the guards, who had watched me as I walked past them.

"Would we… be able to have a little privacy?" I asked. The disgust was back on his face again, but before he could do anything, the other guard put a hand on his friend's arm, and looked at me. I could have sworn there was pity in his eyes.

"Just don't try to break him out," he said softly then turned around and walked towards the end of the corridor.

The larger guard spat on the ground in front of me.

"You sicken me, McCarthy," he growled, then whirled around to follow his friend.

"You sicken me too," I told his retreating backs.

Then I turned back to Kurda.

Still wearing his white robes, he was sitting on the natural rock-bed that was in the tiny cell, his hands around the bars. There was a small sad smile on his pale, dirty face, and it looked like his lip had been cut, dried blood having trickled down his chin.

"Hello, Daegan," he said softly. Slowly, I approached him, barely able to keep myself steady. I kneeled down in front of him, placing my own hands on top of his.

"Kurda…" I said, just as quietly as he, my voice wavering. "What did they do to your lip?"

He winced slightly, that sad smile never leaving his face.

"Just a little cut," he said, then allowed his smile to widen. "I didn't lick it because I had hoped you would visit me."

It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. When I finally did, I grinned, shaking my head.

"You're really desperate, you know that?" I asked him, shuffling forward and pressing my face against the bars.

"Only because I love you," he whispered – and leaned forward to kiss me. Our kiss was long and hard as we pressed our lips together, hard enough for his cut to start bleeding again. I reached through the bars to wrap my hands around the back of his head, pushing his lips harder onto mine. He, too, slipped his hands out, cupping my face in his long hands. On and on the kiss went, blood mixing in with the juices, until we finally pulled away to catch our breath. Just before we did, my tongue flickered out, licking up the blood and along the cut, which instantly began to heal.

I looked down, my body beginning to shake again. Kurda, not noticing this, kissed my forehead and pulled my face up, to find my eyes filled with tears. His soft smile immediately turned to frown.

"Daegan – please, don't cry," he said softly, brushing away a stray lock of my sandy hair from my eyes. The tears started to fall, and I was unable to stop them. He thumbed the tears away, shaking his head. "Please, Daegan, don't cry. I can't stand seeing you like this."

"It wasn't meant to be like this," I moaned, the tears running freely now. "We were meant to do this together. If I could-"

Kurda cut me off, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking me lightly.

"No, Daegan. You are not turning yourself in as well. I don't want you to have to die with me."

"But!"

"I don't want you to die, Daegan!"

"I don't want you to die either," I whispered, lowering my eyes. Once again, he lifted my face, making me stare straight into his blue eyes. There was a humourless smile on his face, more of a smirk than a smile, really.

"Elf," he said softly, "from the day I came up with my plan, I was destined to die. The vampaneze would have killed me for betraying my people – as would have the vampires. There is no stopping my fate."

"It's all Darren's fault," I said bitterly, clenching my fists. "If only he hadn't…"

"You can say all the 'if onlys' you want, my little elf, but you know that this is how it is meant to be," Kurda said, shaking me again. He reached down, picking up my fists, and kissed them both lightly. "Please, don't act like this. And promise me this…"

I looked up, my eyes wide and tearful. I sniffed loudly.

"Please don't come to my execution. I don't want you to have to see me die…"

I stared at him, unable to make a sound. He squeezed my hands.

"Please, Daegan, please don't go."

"…I can't promise you that," I whispered softly, turning away. Once more, he lifted my chin, making me look at him again.

"Very well," he whispered. "Then promise me that you won't seek revenge."

I opened my mouth. Then I hung my head, pulling my hands from his and slipping back, so that I was out of his reach.

"I... I…"

"Elf?"

"I, I can't," I sobbed, shaking my head. "I can't!"

I buried my head into my heads bringing my knees up as the sob raced through my body again, shaking me violently. I rocked back and forth, shaking my head, the tears dripping off my face. I was dimly aware of Kurda saying 'shhh' in the background, trying to comfort me, while, a few cells away, Puck was calling out encouragement in his sardonic way.

"Well, you're just great at making the little ones cry, Kurda," Puck called to Kurda, then focused on me. "Hey, hey, it's all right, Daegan, it'll only be a little prick from a lot of stakes, we won't feel a thing, it'll be a cinch compared to what my Trials were like, you don't have to cry…" He was calling.

I held my breath, trying to stop the sobs. It worked, the sobs dying down to irregular hiccoughs that would shake my entire body. I sniffed loudly, wiping my running nose onto my sleeve, and drying my face. Finally, I shuffled closer to Kurda again, leaning onto the bars, a small, shaky smile tugging at my lips.

"I'm sorry, Kurda," I whispered. He just smiled.

"Your face has gone all blotchy."

I let out a small bark of laughter, clutching at the bars. His arms snaked out, encircling me in their warmth. I breathed in deep, breathing in his smell, trying to lodge it in my memory.

"Well, if you can't promise me those things," he said softly, "Could you at least sing a song for me? One last time?"

I hesitated, unsure of what to say or sing. And then I gave up, nestling against the cold bars, trying to get closer to him.

I began to sing.

My voice was soft at first, wavering slightly as it tried to find the correct pitch. The song I sang was almost tuneless, almost not a song at all, but I had written it once, long ago, and it forever remained in my mind. I had no idea why, though. It wasn't exactly cheerful, or loving, even. But it was a song. My song. The song I sang for Kurda. The melody was plain, a quiet thing that was once described as beautiful by someone who overheard me singing it one day, though the words didn't match the plainness, the simpleness, the beauty of it.

But still I sang. Because it was Kurda's song.

"_You failed._

_You're falling apart._

_Watch the broken pieces float down_

_Collapse to your knees._

_The bloody parts of your courage_

_Thrown to the wind like ashes._

_It laughs._

_It starts its gloating._

_Slowly pulling you limb from limb_

_Crimson tears fall._

_Twisting your will round its finger_

_It senses your end draw near._

_A shaft._

_A light from above._

_Pick up the broken pieces_

_Gather your strength._

_Bloody feathers of defiance –_

_Fight on, my young, brave angel._

_Fight for all you hold dear."_

I was still singing when the guards came back in to take Kurda to his pre-decided trial.

----

**A.N** XD

That song was by me. I wrote it for English earlier this year. It's called 'Never Give Up'. XD And it's not actually a song, but I like saying it is. XD

S-A Uh oh. You'll be disappointed in me. I didn't quite come up with the chapter names… Eh heh… Since this story is sorta based on music, I kinda based the chapter titles on songs that would suit the chapter… and the next chapter's title is what I blame for this whole story. It's all because of Godhead. Damn them. If they hadn't sung that song, this story wouldn't exist. T.T

----

**Next Chapter:**

**Sixth**

**Crescendo**

**I Hate Today **

**----**

_Kurda fell silent, refusing to answer any more questions. The Princes then let anyone ask a question of the disgraced General, to persuade the Princes from their obvious decision. I opened my mouth, prepared to say something. But I felt Kurda's eyes burning into me, and I shut my mouth. Our eyes locked. _

Don't,_ his eyes seemed to say. Biting my lip, I nodded._

_Then came the judgement._

_It was inevitable, really. I knew what to suspect, but either way, it still came as a shock to me, when those four words rang out across the dome._

_"The Hall of Death."_

_My knees buckled, and those near me were forced to catch me as I fell._

----


	6. I Hate Today

**Discordant Melody**

**A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Sixth**

**Crescendo**

**I Hate Today **

**----**

As good as this day started, it quickly turned sour. I woke up in the morning, looking forward to Kurda's investiture and the successful end of our plan drawing nearer.

However, by the time most of the day had gone by, I still had lots to look forward to. Namely my love's trial, for one thing, which would most certainly be followed by said man's brutal execution. Who wouldn't look forward to something like that?

By the time I got to the Hall of Princes, the trial was already underway, and the hall itself packed. I managed to squeeze myself into a pew right at the very back of the dome, where I stood up on top of a pew so that I could see over everyone's heads. My slight amount of movement must have caught Kurda's attention, because his eyes flickered towards me as he talked. A faint smile lit his dishevelled features, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a cold, collected countenance. He was a cold-hearted conspirator - his own words - when it came to business. So unlike the beautiful, warm, sensitive man I loved.

Under his façade, I knew he was terrified. I could see that faint light in his eyes, the way he fiddled with his hands – signs that he was troubled. I wanted to push passed everyone, to just run up to the platform in the centre of the dome and embrace him, and then just magically disappear in a puff of smoke with him, taking him away from all of this…

But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.

Kurda fell silent, refusing to answer any more questions. The Princes then let anyone ask a question of the disgraced General, to persuade the Princes from their obvious decision. I opened my mouth, prepared to say something. But I felt Kurda's eyes burning into me, and I shut my mouth. Our eyes locked.

_Don't_, his eyes seemed to say. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Then came the judgement.

It was inevitable, really. I knew what to suspect, but either way, it still came as a shock to me, when those four words rang out across the dome.

"The Hall of Death."

My knees buckled, and those near me were forced to catch me as I fell. Quietly, I assured them that I was all right, steadying myself back onto my pew once more, then looked out to Kurda. He was looking up at the ceiling, a sad, withdrawn expression on his face. He had accepted his fate months, even years ago. I just had to realise that. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

The great grief that washed over me was tremendous, almost forcing me to my knees once more. But somehow I stood straight, my eyes dry, staring at my beautiful Prince. I couldn't cry. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. Maybe I was empty of tears at the moment. I had probably wasted them all earlier in the day, crying over the needless deaths of my vampaneze friends and while I was with Kurda, down in the cells.

I watched as they stripped him of his white robes, revealing to the world his naked body, the very same body whose every inch I knew almost as well as my own. I watched as the Princes, one by one, spat onto the ground before him, then drew an ugly mark onto his chest with blood, the sign of a traitor. I watched as the guards dragged him down the steps and made their way towards the exit.

Silence reigned through the hallway as vampires parted like the Red Sea to let them through. Most of the vampires were stirred by the speech Kurda had given – stirred and ashamed. They were killing a man who had acted out of his love for them. But here they were – sending him to his execution. Though there were tears running down his cheeks, he made no attempt to struggle, to ask for forgiveness. They were making a martyr of him.

As he passed the first set of rows, I noticed a head shorter than the rest – Darren. He followed Kurda as he walked past, and I was surprised to see the boy was crying.

A cacophony of emotions ran through me – hatred and jealousy bearing down on them all. I clenched my fists as my side, trying to prevent myself from leaping across the space that separated us and ripping his head from his shoulders.

How _dare_ he cry for Kurda?! How _dare_ he?! It was _his_ fault that Kurda was to die – so what right did he have to cry for him?!

I hated him. I hated him. Oh how I hated Darren.

As Kurda passed through the silent hall, naked, bruised, bloody and crying, small numbers of vampires separated themselves from the crowd and followed them, their heads bowed. These were the friends of Kurda – they were going to farewell him, to watch him as he was dropped onto the stakes.

I found myself following the small crowd slowly, hanging towards the back. From the other side of the hall, another procession was slowly making its way up to the dome – it was Puck's turn.

As he passed me, the dark-haired vampire grinned at me and winked, despite having a black eye and another bloody nose.

"It was nice knowing you, little elf," he whispered to me, his chains clinking as he gave me the death touch sign. I nodded, sending it back in reply.

"Even in death, may you be triumphant," I whispered as he walked by. As I watched, he squared his shoulders and wiped the smile of his face, head held high. He wanted to make everyone's last impression of himself a good one – for too long, he had been a jokester, a troublemaker. Might as well make them feel guilty about his death as well.

We walked and walked, every vampire passing us bowing their heads in shame or giving Kurda the death sign. With a start, I noticed that the Little Person – Harkat Mulds – had joined the group, walking along slowly next to me, his blue robes swaying gently. I didn't acknowledge his presence, but he knew I noticed. He looked up at me, putting a large, cold hand onto my arm in what I supposed was meant to be reassuring. Then he kept walking, his large green eyes set forward, towards the naked back of Kurda.

Soon, the small group was standing before the Halls of Death. Kurda and his guards had stopped in front of the doorway, though for no particular reason. Kurda was looking up at the doorway, seemingly frozen. For a second, I thought he was going to collapse, to turn around and break free. Even from here, I could see his shoulders shaking slightly.

Then he bowed his head, almost resolutely, and stepped into the hall.

Inside, he was taken to the side, and a man dressed in black – classic executioner's style – wrapped an equally black blindfold around his eyes. Then, he was taken to the cage that normally hung in the middle of the room, and laid down onto the bloodstained metal.

The executioner stepped back, and the door of the cage swung shut ominously. As I stood to the side of the hall, on the opposite side of the pit, I could see that Kurda had his jaw set firmly, and that he was no longer crying. He was prepared. He was ready. He had settled down, and was giving everyone what they wanted – his death.

But I was not prepared for it.

My whole body was shaking, and I dimly felt a dizzying sensation, like I was going to faint any second. But I didn't. I willed myself to stand straight, to watch, to never take my eyes from my beloved at his moment of death. Once again, I didn't notice as Harkat stood beside me.

The executioner was saying something, but I couldn't hear him. It was as if a veil had fallen over me, me and Kurda, and the only things I could hear were my own breathing – and his.

Then the cage was slowly swung to the side, the chains that held it creaking under its pressure. Kurda flinched slightly, then settled himself back down again. My own heart was hammering in its confining cavity – how must his heart have been, as the cage hung in the air? Never knowing when it would drop, never knowing when the stakes would come. It was torture. The ultimate torture.

The executioner had his hand on a lever that worked the pulley system of the cage. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him hesitate. Then, using both hands, he pushed heavily onto the lever.

The cage fell heavily, a loud whooshing of air. Then, with a sickly slurping sound that could only be associated with flesh being torn by sharp objects, the cage landed.

Kurda's pain-filled scream tore through the silence, a horrible, terrible, heart-wrenching thing. The room winced at the sound, almost as if they could _feel_ his pain with him.

I was shaking, small whimpers escaping from my throat.

The executioner, muscles bulging, pulled the lever up, and as chains creaked once more, the cage was lifted. Kurda was still alive, still breathing, his face torn in pain, his body, his beautiful, beautiful body, slashed and bloodied.

The lever was dropped.

The cage fell once more.

Kurda's scream was even worse than the one before. I cried out with him, collapsing – only for Harkat to catch me. As I sobbed against him, my eyes never leaving the chain of the cage as it slowly rattled up again, he wrapped an arm around me that, in a strange way, felt vaguely familiar.

Again, the cage went up.

Again, the cage fell.

For the last time, Kurda screamed – and then he fell silent.

The cage was slowly dragged up, and in it lay him. His blood dripped in heavy torrents, falling onto the pit below him. His body was almost unrecognizable, it was so ripped up and torn by the stakes. As I saw it, I knew that he was dead.

And I died with him.

He was dead. Kurda was dead. My love, my beautiful beloved, was dead, dead, dead, and I had done nothing, could do nothing –

He was dead.

As I slipped from Harkat's arms onto the floor, my eyes never leaving the mangled wreck that lay in the cage, I vaguely felt the others in the room give the sign of death and leave in a tense, depressed silence. I cried, oh how I cried, my eyes running, my nose running, my mouth opened in a silent wail. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

Beside me, Harkat knelt down, putting his large hand onto my back in way of reassurance. I made no attempt to knock it off, nor did I acknowledge it.

"I'm… sorry…" I heard him say softly through his mask. And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the hall with the executioner, a few of the pale-faced Guardians, and Kurda's body.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying my heart out for my loss, for my kind's loss, while the Guardians worked away busily to prepare for the next two stages of Kurda's execution – dismemberment and cremation.

Eventually, however, I became silent, wrapping my arms around my legs and watching as they pulled his body out of the cage. I watched as his body almost fell apart, it was so shredded. I shuddered, and then the only thing I could hear was –

A pain-filled scream. A horrible, horrible, ugly sound that ripped through my heart and my very soul. It was a scream that would stay with me forever.

And with the scream, a face came into view. It wasn't the familiar face of my blonde-haired, blue-eyed love – it was dark-haired, young and childish, the blue-green eyes filled with tears.

Darren.

My fists clenched.

I hated Darren.

I hated Darren.

If I could have killed him then, I would have, but he wasn't there.

I. Hated. Darren. Shan

That day was the most horrible day of my life.

My lover was gone.

And I had died with him.

**----**

**A.N **Oops! I missed a day! Hehehehe! I'm sorry! X.x I was playing Sims 2 all night… ehehehehe….

Scarlet Black: Hi! Thankyou! Mwuahahaha! Yeah, Emotion Sickness is my favourite Silverchair song too. XD It's sho cool! And I like 'Lady of the Flowers' better. I think. Ehehehe.

S-A: XD I try to update everyday. Ehehehe. Only because I'm on a roll with this one. Oh well. One more chapter and it's done. And who cares if you do something stupid? Stupid is good. It brings colour to the world. XD. PEACE OUT DUUUUUUDE!

**----**

**Next Chapter:**

**Conclusion**

**Cadence**

**Novocain For the Soul**

**----**

_As I stood in the crowd, my fists clenched. There he was. Taking Kurda's place. Where he should have been killed, dishonoured, as Kurda was, he was rewarded for killing the man that I loved. _

_My hate for the boy – the boy _prince_, now – was greater than it had ever been before. From my spot between cheering, whooping vampires, I glared up at him, my deadened green eyes like two beacons of pure hatred._

_Darren was looking around the dome, his face alight with wonder. And then his eyes rested on mine. The wonder disappeared as our eyes locked. Something in his eyes changed, an emotion I couldn't quite comprehend._

_Then it clicked. Triumph roared within me._

_He knew. He knew my hatred for him._

_And he was afraid._

**----**


	7. Novocain For The Soul

**Discordant Melody**

**A Kurda Smahlt Story**

**----**

**Conclusion**

**Cadence**

**Novocain For the Soul **

**----**

For the days that followed the execution of Kurda Smahlt, I was in a daze. I would wander through the Mountain, sitting in the main hall while others ate, but never eating myself – to the Hall of Sports, yet never fighting – to any Hall at all, whether it was crowded with other vampires or not – yet not talking to any of them. Even when Vanez, my only remaining friend after the deaths of Puck, Granz, Cyrus and Arra, tried talking to me, I could not hear him. I did not even notice that his other eye had been gouged out, leaving the burly gamesmaster completely blind. He would talk, but I would not listen. I would not hear.

All I could hear were the screams that had wrenched through my heart and buried themselves into my soul on that horrible day.

It was as if there was a great yawning darkness, a type of emptiness, that gripped me from within, held in place by the shards that were his screams. The emptiness, the screams, neither of them would let me go, no matter what approach I took to try and get rid of it. Struggling didn't work; nor did crying or 'going with the flow', as Puck would have said. It stayed, buried deep within me, its pain growing more intense with each passing day.

Everywhere I walked, vampires would stop and watch me suspiciously, as if I were going to pull a vampaneze out of my ass or something – they all knew of my relationship with Kurda, and those who didn't soon found out. But no one did anything about it. There was no proof, and anyway, most 'believed' that Kurda was not my sire, therefore I had had no obligations to follow him. Or so their train of thought would have probably gone.

Then, one day, through the heavy fog that shrouded me, I noticed that something was up. There was activity. Vampires were making their way somewhere in large groups. Having been too caught up in my grief to keep up with any news, I didn't realise that it was someone else's trial today. Someone I would have gladly seen put to death, no matter how many screams of pain left this one's throat.

Slightly curious, I silently followed the crowd as they made their way up, up, up through the Mountain. When I finally realised where we were going, we were already there, and I was in the middle of the dome, looking up at the platform set in the middle.

Standing in front of the Stone of Blood, bleeding fingertips pressed against bleeding fingertips, were two of the Princes and one who I hadn't seen since that day. One who I had imagined killing in every possible way, and even in every _im_possible way – I would dream at night, dream during the day, of the boy's death at my own hands, from a classic wringing of the neck to something outlandish like making him drink two gallons of gasoline and hanging him on a rope over the top of a crater of a live volcano. Probably in Hawaii.

Needless to say, Darren Shan was not on my Most Favourite Person list.

As I stood in the crowd, my fists clenched, clutching at the material of my pants. There he was. Taking Kurda's place. Where he should have been killed, dishonoured, as Kurda was, he was rewarded for killing the man that I loved.

My hate for the boy – the boy _prince_, now – was greater than it had ever been before. From my spot between cheering, whooping vampires, I glared up at him, my deadened green eyes like two beacons of pure hatred.

Darren was looking around the dome, his face alight with wonder. And then his eyes rested on mine. The wonder disappeared as our eyes locked. Something in his eyes changed, an emotion I couldn't quite comprehend.

Then it clicked. Triumph roared within me.

He knew. He knew my hatred for him.

And he was afraid.

As quickly as he saw me, he tore his wide eyes away, as if he couldn't bear to look at me any longer. But my eyes never left his face. If only I had laser vision – I would have been able to drill holes into the side of his head, piercing straight through the soft grey matter of his brain. His body would have probably continued working for several moments, until it would finally collapse, its control centre having been completely turned into mush.

Underneath that simple façade of pure hatred that covered me, fury raged and roared unchecked, a wild bushfire steadily growing out of control. I could have probably spontaneously combusted any moment the fire inside me was so intense – that is, if inner fires were literal, not figurative.

I could feel my fists shaking as my nails drew blood from the palms of my hands. Unconsciously, I had also begun to breathe faster, harder, as if I were having an asthma attack.

I knew that if I didn't control myself soon, I would have killed Darren then and there. Already, I was having trouble keeping my breathing normal. It was only a matter of time before I completely lost it, forfeited my life, jumped over the heads of the idiotic, barbaric vampires around me and slew the child in front of their very eyes, right at his moment of triumph. They would kill me as soon as I did it – but what did that matter? I had nothing more on this Earth, nothing else to look forward to.

And yet… and yet…

It was not the right time. It was not the time to kill him yet. I could feel in my heart that there would be other times, other chances, both in the near future and the distant. It was all just a matter of choosing correctly.

Slowly, my breath evened out. My fists loosened, allowing blood to drip slowly onto the ground. I bowed my head, and turned around, intent on walking away from it all – only to walk headfirst into Harkat Mulds.

His strong arms shot out and steadied me before I had a chance to fall. His grip was strong, yet gentle at the same time, and like his hug from That Day, it was vaguely familiar. Mutely, Harkat looked up at me, his green eyes going wider than their already widened shape.

"Elf…?" I heard him say, his voice muffled by his mask and the sounds around us. My eyes also widened, and I wrenched myself out of him grip. Then, shaking me head, I ran passed him, pushing my way through the crowd, through the hall, through the tunnels, until I was out.

Behind me, I could just hear Harkat calling after me, still using that nickname. The nickname that everyone called me. The nickname that I only allowed Kurda to call me.

I needed some air.

----

By the time I reached the outer edge of the Mountain, the sun had just begun to set, lighting the bottoms of the dark clouds in the sky in brilliant colours. But for some reason, the sunset didn't look anywhere near as brilliant as it had in my youth. There was something different about it, like something was gone. Something was missing.

Hugging my clothes closer to my body, one hand wrapped around my staff, I squinted to watch the sun going down, my mind devoid of thought. Out here, in the cold, fresh mountain air, nothing pushed against me; nothing dug into me and tried to tear at me.

Here, I was at peace, while barely five hundred metres away, in the stuffy, hot, smelly tunnels of Vampire Mountain, I was bombarded with memories and thoughts, all of them as painful as the one before.

However, that peace was not to last. Soon, the face of my enemy came to my mind, taunting me with his childish good-looks and cheerful eyes.

With a growl, I whirled around, my staff thudding heavily against a boulder.

I wanted to kill him so bad that it ruined my English to say it. No amount of foul sailor language from my dock worker days even came close to the things I was saying about him in my mind.

Then a voice floated in my head, soft, almost pleading.

_"Swear that you will never spill blood unnecessarily,"_ he had said. I had sworn that day. But later, I couldn't. What had he said later? _"Promise me that you won't seek revenge."_

I did not promise him that I would not seek revenge. I couldn't promise him, because I knew that even if I did, I would have broken that promise.

And spilling blood unnecessarily?

This was necessary.

Another face came to view this time, one almost unfamiliar to me. Immaturely platinum-haired, red eyes, purple skin, sharp, stern face –

Of course.

I knew now.

I knew what I was meant to do.

I had lived as a vampire for thirty years. I knew Vampire Mountain as well as Kurda did – and there was no one else who even came _close_ to his knowledge of the ins and outs of the Mountain.

I also knew the way things worked. I could get in to places easier, I could listen in on things without anybody listening or suspecting. Heck, I could even start training to become a General, just to make myself inconspicuous.

The plan slowly wove itself in my mind, until it became something solid, a woven tapestry telling me of my future. I smiled for the first time in what seemed like centuries, the last rays of the sun dipping below the white horizon.

I would spy for the vampaneze. I would do their dirty work. There was a war coming, and I knew that whatever little bit of damage I could do to the vampires would be enough.

Eventually, I would even be able to kill Darren Shan.

But first, I had to wait.

First, I had to find Marcus van Kütriht.

----

"Harkat…?"

I looked up from my hammock, to where Darren was lying in his hammock, one hand stretched out in front of him to view the newly healed scars on his fingertips while the other was tucked behind his head for support. He shifted his weight ever so slightly so that he could see me.

"You know that Daegan guy, right?"

"I've… met him… once or twice…" I said softly, nodding. Darren sighed, dropping his hand and looking off, his scarred face thoughtful.

"I think… I think he hates me."

"Of course… he does…"

"Oh, that's nice!" Darren cried, then pulled a face at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well… you were the cause… of his lover's… death…"

"His lover…? You mean he and Kurda were-?" Darren pulled another face, this one of childish disgust. It was almost an innocent sort of look, the look of someone ignorant and immature. Someone who was still too young to know the ways of the world. I smiled beneath my mask, nodding.

"Remember… there are hardly… any female… vampires… so it must get… awfully lonely…"

Darren sat up, deftly balancing on the piece of material he lay on, his hands in his lap. His face was still contorted in that look of disgust.

"But that's so… unnatural."

"It's… unnatural… to drink blood… and for a ghost… to come back… to life… is it not?" I retorted. Darren blinked, then scowled.

"That's beside the point…!"

I shook my head sadly.

"No… it's the… same thing… one more… unnatural act… doesn't make it anymore… different from… anything else…"

Darren continued to scowl at me.

"Since when were you so… smart?! And why are you getting… what's the word again? Oh, yeah - defensive?"

I paused, blinking and looking up at the ceiling. I myself didn't know why I was being so defensive about this issue. I mean, I wasn't like that myself, or so I believed. I had no recollections of what I was like before given a second chance by Mr. Tiny, so I could have been the type who were interested in other men. If I was a man.

And yet… and yet…

"I… feel like I… knew him… I knew… Daegan…"

Thoughtfully, I rolled over on to my side, blocking Darren from my view.

"'My little elf'… that was his nickname…"

**----**

**A.N** Hurrah! I'm done! YAY! That has got to be the longest story I've ever written in such a short space of time. WOW. I started this story on Thursday the 2nd, and now, ten days later, I be FINISHED! MWUAHAHAHA!

Thankyou to S-A for being my first and most loyal reviewer! And yes, I hate Darren too – can't you tell? Hehehehe. DIE DARREN DIE YOU EVIL LITTLE BOY!

I can now safely say that there are at least four people who hate him – Steve, R.V, Annie and now, Daegan/Elwyn. MWUAHAHAHAHA! Stupid child. .

Thankyou also to Scarlet Black and Die Kikyo Die – stankoo for reviewing!

And lastly, I'd like to thank my mum, my dad, my friends, and of course, God, if it weren't for them, none of this would have ever happened… -gets shot-

Now, to the song titles I stole and why:

'Novocain For the Soul' and 'Goddamn Right, It's a Beautiful Day' are by The Eels. Just because they're cool and self-explanatory respectively.

'It's Too Late' is by Evermore (packing bags, leaving, memories…)

'The Bitter End' is by Placebo (summer days… o.O)

'Behind Blue Eyes' is by Limp Bizkit (well, the version I like is by them, in any case… and it was chosen because of obvious reasons… and the fact that the lyrics kind of suit Kurda…)

'Emotion Sickness' is by Silverchair (well, it didn't really relate to the story, but I love the song, and I worked the title in, so :P)

'I Hate Today' is by Godhead. Go find the lyrics and/or download. Now. –cracks whip-

Thankyou and goodnight!

(I think I'll have another story posted tonight… it'll only be a one off, a parody/satire/sarcastic/humourous/MS-bashing sort of story… mwuahaha…)

((Yay, my plane is tomorrow morning! And yes, I'm allowed to say 'tomorrow', because it is technically today, being 3:20am on Sunday. Hehehehe.))

----

**Coming Soon:**

**Attack of the Fangirls**

**----**

_There was a knock on the front door._

_"Helloooooo?__ Anybody home?"_

_Inside the small suburban house that could only belong to a bachelor, a man - young, rosy cheeked and a little on the chubby side - looked up blearily from his computer screen._

_"Ehhhh?"__ He called._

_Knock, knock, knock._

_Grumbling, the young man stumbled to his feet, scratching his backside sleepily as he padded towards the source of the knocking. Not remembering that he was only in his boxers, he opened the door._

**----**


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